In A Song
by Lexton
Summary: A series of one-shots featuring Snape and Hermione, all themed by a song. Rated M for sexy-times and language. Some AU, lots of OOC and of course, I don't own anything except the computer it was written on. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

A short message from the author

Hi kids! I thought it prudent to insert this little message as chapter one, since I can see there may be confusion in the future. And if any of you guys are like me, you may tend to ignore author's notes at the top of chapters if it seems like their ten miles long. So I made my authors note into an entire chapter.

Huzzah!

So here is my message to you: this is not a continuous story. _These_ are one-shot scenes inspired by a song, and each will be different from the other. Some will be true to the books, some with be very obviously set in an alternate universe. Snape will be alive in some, but he may also be dead in some. The only thing connecting these scenes – AKA chapters – is that each will feature some component of the Snape and Hermione relationship, based on a song of my choice.

I'm open to song suggestions, so long as it can be applied to a .. Snermione? … situation. Pretty much, any love song can be applied to them.

Thanks for reading this, which you hopefully did to get to this point. And since things have now been cleared up, you have my permission to continue to chapter two. Which is really chapter one.

Happy FanFictioning!

Love Lexton


	2. Chapter 2

BREATHING – JASON DERULO

_I only miss you when I'm breathing_

_I only need you when my heart is beating_

_You are the colour that I'm bleeding_

_I only miss you when I'm breathing_

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><p>The castle was silent, and still. No ghosts or teachers made an appearance as she made her way to the seventh floor. Not even Mrs. Norris watched her from the shadows. Hermione was completely alone, treading quietly up the moving staircases and past the sleeping paintings. Her bare feet made no noise on the stone floor; the rustle of her jeans and soft breathing the only sounds to give her away.<p>

Finally she found it. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She looked at it for barely a second before turning to face the opposite wall, completely bare and unassuming. But she had lived in the castle too long, and seen too much, to ever think that the stones in the walls didn't have motives. Casting a glance at the wall, she walked to the end of the hallway, thinking hard. Pacing back and forth along the corridor, she waited impatiently for the door to appear. When it did, she could barely keep herself from sprinting to it and yanking it open. She stepped into the room in an almost frenzied state, only to find that there was someone already in the room.

He stood facing her, dressed in his customary black robes and disdainful sneer. She didn't blame him for it – a lifetime of agony had made him dark, and decades of useless students had made him cruel. In his position, she wondered if she might have turned out any differently. She closed the door quietly behind her, not taking her eyes from the sight of him.

Severus Snape was a perfect contrast of black and white, alluring and at the same time inspiring in her the desire to run. Hermione had felt it the moment she stepped into his classroom seven years ago, when she had been captivated by his silken voice only to fear his dark, cold eyes. Her younger self had been intimidated by him to say the least. But she was much older now, and she finally saw what so many students had failed to see.

"You're late," he said, raising his eyebrows in a show of disapproval. But she knew he wasn't mad, just disappointed.

"Ginny was hovering," she explained, moving over to him slowly. The room as usual held no interest for her, though it featured a large king bed and a shelf of assorted instruments she couldn't identify. "She's hard to shake once she gets a grip on you. Like a pitbull."

Snape didn't smile, only watched her as she drew ever closer to him. In his dark eyes she saw the same hesitation he always felt, even though they had done this so many times before. He never talked about it, but she had to wonder if he was still afraid of this level of intimacy, which for them went so far beyond mere touching. Other times she thought that maybe he wasn't comfortable doing this with a student, even though she had been an adult of the wizarding world for more than a year. She preferred to think it was the former, even though it was the worst of the two possibilities. She could distract him from being uncomfortable, but it was incredibly difficult to get him to trust her.

"I'm here now," she said softly, stopping only a foot from where he stood. "And I don't have to leave for hours."

He only hesitated for a moment, but then raised a hand to touch her cheek with gentle fingers.

"You're here," he whispered.

"And we have hours," she reminded him, smiling softly.

His dark eyes lost some of their heaviness, and he gave her a smile of his own. "It won't be enough."

Before she could say another word, he lowered his head down to let his lips hover over hers. The contact was brief and light as a feather, but enough to make her shudder deliciously. His breath warmly mingled with her own as she waited for him to make the final move. Over time, she had learned not to rush him during the initial moments of intimacy, in case he got cold feet in the face of her unbridled passion. But sometimes he just didn't move fast enough, kiss her hard enough, or touch her long enough, and she had to force him to act. Depending on his mood, he either complied or pulled away, and the night would end with the two of them exhausted and naked on the floor, or Snape stalking back to his rooms as Hermione stared after him, dumbfounded. Tonight wasn't a night she was prepared to risk the latter, and so she waited as patiently as she could, feeling her body tingle with anticipation.

Finally, and with excruciating slowness, he brushed his lips against hers.

Hermione threw herself wholeheartedly into the kiss, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his body. Snape smiled against her mouth, wrapping his arms around her waist so that she couldn't escape him. Not that she would ever have tried. She would go to the ends of the earth and back for him, even to the brink of death if it meant he could escape the nightmares that were his own memories. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, this man that she loved.

Nibbling delicately at her lower lip, Snape moved a hand to rest on her waist, tugging at her shirt with his longer fingers. She moaned into his mouth, and moved to help him undress her as quickly as possible. But he grabbed her wrist in his hand, and placed it back around his neck before she even had a chance to touch her shirt. In her head, she could almost hear him chuckling and reprimanding her for her impatience. He didn't make a sound, however, as he continued to thoroughly take her mouth with his. After what felt like hours of slow caresses, his kiss finally took on the hard edge she'd been waiting for, when his carefully restricted desires took control of him, and he crossed the point of no return.

Now, she knew, he would have absolutely no reservations with her.

With a small groan, he sucked and nipped at her lips, tongue tracing the shape of her mouth as a way of asking for entrance. She let him in with a sigh, and met his tongue with her own, tasting him and playing with him until he groaned again. Against her lower belly, she could feel the hardness of his erection. Knowing how much he wanted her made her panties wetter, since they had been nearly soaking since she first came in the room.

The hand at her waist finally found her flesh, and stroked lazily up her side until it rested just beneath the band of her bra. Hermione shivered and pulled away from his kiss, breathing hard. She leaned her head against his chest while his hands roamed the soft skin of her belly and back, drawing soft moans of pleasure from her. Every time he ventured near her breasts she stiffened, hoping that he would dip his fingers into her bra as he sometimes did. But tonight he seemed determined to take things slowly, and so he only lingered on her torso, driving her at a snail's pace to insanity.

"Severus," she whispered, her voice coming dangerously close to begging.

"I know," he murmured into her ear. "Just let me do this, Hermione."

Her mind was cloudy with the need to have him touch her, but she thought she understood what he was saying. He needed to take his time with her, to feel and memorise every inch of her skin, every swell and every dip of her body. Thinking that maybe he had the right idea, she pulled back to look at him.

"Let me, as well."

He regarded her for a moment, apparently deciding whether or not to allow her access to his body. After a moment, he stepped back and out of her reach. Keeping his eyes on hers, he reached up to his chin and slowly began unbuttoning the clasps of his robe.

Hermione watched him undress with wide eyes, her breath coming in soft pants. God, her heart was nearly ready to burst just looking at him. She felt something akin to ecstasy and misery whenever he was around, as though she were homesick in her own home. She missed him horribly, even though he was right in front of her, perfect in his darkness. When he dropped his robe to the floor, he nodded slightly at her, raising his eyebrows in request.

She frowned at him. That wasn't fair. He was still wearing a black shirt and dress pants. There wasn't nearly enough skin for her liking. But she did as she was asked, and pulled the hem of her shirt over her head, leaving her topless except for the plain tee-shirt bra she was wearing. Snape had no preferences either way when it came to her lingerie. It always just ended up on the floor, anyway.

Snape looked over her bare skin with an appreciative eye that made her warm all over. She crossed the space between them and laid her hands on his chest, feeling the subtle muscle beneath the dark fabric. No one would believe her, but she knew his body was something to be admired. Not many men his age could still boast the strength and beauty he could. Years of playing the double agent had kept him fit and healthy, even if his mind had suffered some, his body was well-cared for. Only a mirage of scars across his back hinted at physical abuse, but she had never asked how he got them. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they didn't discuss the war, or the years leading up to it. He didn't want to know what she had suffered in the Malfoy Manor any more than she wanted to know who was responsible for his scars, which were quite obviously made by a whip. Thinking of him in any more pain than he lived with now would be enough to send her crying hysterically to St Mungo's. No, it wasn't something either of them wanted, and so they kept quiet on their experiences.

While he resumed his exploration of her body, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt, revealing inch by inch the pale skin of his chest. As each button popped open, she planted a kiss on the exposed flesh, drawing a string of gasps and hisses from him. She knew what her touch did to him, and she loved that she could drive him crazy just with her mouth. It was much the same as the way he made her feel, though he was better able to control himself.

When the last button gave way, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders roughly, becoming impatient with the slow pace. Snape chuckled and let her undress him, knowing she had to feel all of him as soon as possible. He kissed her with sure, determined strokes as she reached for the buckle of his belt. But he didn't let her finish her task. Not until he'd finished his.

The clasp of her bra came undone under his expert fingers, now well accustomed to removing Hermione's various layers. When the garment fell to the floor to join her shirt, it was with almost painful deliberateness that he took his time to look at her breasts. Though he knew she still had reservations about her body, he thought her nothing short of exquisite, and liked to take the opportunity to tell her. But in this instance, he thought it more prudent to _show_ her. Given how hard he was, he didn't know that he could take much longer of this elongated foreplay, which he himself had asked for. And he _did_ want to go slow, and engrave in his mind the feel of her skin beneath his work-roughened fingers, and commit to memory the sound of her quiet gasps when he touched her in her most sensitive spots. But it was becoming harder to control himself, especially now that she was bared before him like this.

Hermione sucked in a breath when he put his hands on her, his palms cupping her breasts like they were a perfect fit. She moaned when his thumbs rubbed back and forth over the soft skin at the sides of her breasts. And she all but screamed when he finally lowered his head, and took a hardened nipple between his lips.

She wrapped her arms around him, scratching his back with her chewed-down nails as she gasped and moaned. His tongue made small circles around the tip of her breast. His lips sucked and pulled at her nipple, and it was all too much. God, but he knew exactly what she liked. Hermione whimpered his name again, this time, it sounded like a prayer.

"My Hermione," he whispered against her breast, relinquishing the wet nipple to his fingers while his mouth explored the next. "Always so impatient."

"It's your fault," she gasped.

"Don't blame others for your shortcomings."

She swatted her hand against his back, earning a chuckle from him. The more he sucked and nipped at her skin, the more her bones turned to jelly and her body trembled. She had to shift her hips several times to stop the burning feeling that was assaulting her cunt. If he kept this up much longer, this ridiculous fucking teasing…

"Severus, let me touch you." It might have sounded much more demanding had her voice not broken. But that was his fault again, when one of his hands travelled down the crotch of her jeans.

"By all means, my love," he said, raising his head to look at her. "Touch me."

She didn't waste another second. Batting his hands away from her body, she reached out to let her fingers slide softly down the centre of his chest, coming to a stop at his belly button. Snape shuddered, and with that she felt the power shift. He wouldn't stop her now. And hopefully, he wouldn't try to keep up the stupidly slow pace he had set.

Leaning against him, Hermione let her hands wander across his abdomen and back, occasionally lingering whenever he groaned, and taking particular care to avoid his sensitive pink nipples. She knew he wanted her to taste him there, but she was content to let him suffer a while so she could have her fill of feeling him. Only when it became obvious that she was deliberately avoiding the area did he say anything.

"Hermione," he growled. "Don't fucking tease me."

"Severus," she sighed, looking up at him with an impish grin. "Always so impatient."

Something snapped in him then, and all of his control flew out the window. He buried a hand in her wild curls and roughly pulled her toward him, claiming her mouth in a hard kiss. She pressed herself into him, knowing he'd enjoy the feel of her breasts on his skin. Her intuition was rewarded with a moan against her lips. His tongue flew into her mouth with demanding rage, and she had to be surprised by his tenacity. Wanting to prove she could play just as dirty, she pinched one of his small nipples between her thumb and forefinger. Hard.

Snape threw his head back and groaned loudly, the sound ripping from his throat like a wounded animal. If possible, it made her even wetter. He bent his head back to hers, trying to catch his breath long enough to kiss her, but she grinned wickedly and lowered a hand to his erection. Before he could stop her, she ran her fingers along his hard length and squeezed him gently.

"Fuck," he moaned into her shoulder.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but found that the words were lost in her throat when he dipped his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Through the soaked fabric of her knickers, he stroked across her clit possessively.

A cry of surprise and need burst out of her, and she suddenly found that she needed to grab his shoulders for support.

"Two can play that game," he murmured.

She gasped his name again, barely able to catch her breath. Uncontrollable shivers pleasure ran along her body, and heat pooled in the bottom of her stomach. His fingers didn't stop their assault on her clit, and it wasn't long until Hermione couldn't stand on her own.

He caught her before she collapsed, sweeping and arm under her knees and the other across her back. Looking down at the flushed cheeks and bright eyes of his love, he lowered her gently to the bed, eyeing her breasts as he did. Even if he lived a thousand years, he doubted he would ever tire of looking at her. Or touching her. Or tasting her…

Snape reached for the top of her jeans and hooked his fingers under the band. Hermione watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, knowing what he was about to. She planted her feet on the edge of the bed and lifted her hips so he could drag her jeans down. He pulled each leg off individually, and then stopped to regard her lying before him on the bed, now wearing only her knickers, which were so wet they were basically see-through. The smell of her arousal was thick in the air, and he groaned through clenched teeth.

Soon enough her underwear landed on the floor beside her jeans, and she was completely bare on the bed. Panting heavily, he looked at her, simply looked, and thanked whatever god there was that she was his. That she had given herself over to him, and continued to do. It was a sheer miracle that she had somehow seen past his cruel exterior to find the man beneath. Most of the time, he was terrified she would run at the slightest hint of just how dark his soul really was. But she kept surprising him by only asking for more. In return she gave him all of herself, from her obsessive pursuit for knowledge to her perfectly perky nipples and sweet-smelling cunt. She was all his, to do with as he wanted.

From her position beneath him on the bed, Hermione lifted her arms in silent invitation and spread her legs wide. Her folds were slick with her arousal, and made his erection twitch. God, he needed her. But the sight of her wet cunt gave him other ideas, needs that came before satisfying himself.

She watched as his gaze flickered from her face to her cunt, and it dawned on her that he was going to deprive her of the feeling of having him inside her. When he dropped to the floor, one knee at a time, she growled at him.

"Don't you dare, Severus Snape. Don't you _dare_-"

But he only grinned at her, and the last of her words were drowned out in the scream that followed. Stars swam behind her eyes and her back arched off the mattress, fists clenching the blanket under her. She tried desperately to catch her breath, but found that she couldn't do anything except be lost in the waves of pleasure that rolled through her.

Snape lapped at her wetness, drinking in the taste of her like a starved man, barely giving a second thought to whether or not she was enjoying it, though he knew she must be. All that mattered was that he was tasting her very essence, and that nothing could be more beautiful than the feeling of her on his tongue. He nipped playfully at her clit, drawing a short cry from her before running his tongue up the length of her exposed flesh.

Hermione was lost in a daze, unable to control the sounds that ripped out of her chest, or stop the writhing of her limbs as Snape devoured her. She was conscious that she was making a lot of noise, and to anyone listening it must have sounded as though she were being tortured. In a sense, it was torture. A never-ending torrent of pleasure so Goddamned sweet that it took her breath away and left her gasping. And she couldn't touch him in return, which was the cruellest thing he ever could do. Just as she thought she would go mad with need, she felt him push two fingers into her cunt.

She screamed again, bucking her hips wildly off the bed. Snape reached up with one hand to hold her hips down, while his tongue continued to tease and stroke her clit, and his fingers wiggled and dipped expertly into her. It was too much. It was far, far too much, and she couldn't stand it.

"Severus," she begged, her voice breaking out in a sob. In the back of her mind, she realised tears were slowly leaking from her eyes. She was so desperate with need that the asshole had made her cry. "Please… don't…"

"Don't what, my love?" He asked, keeping his lips against her most sensitive spot. His fingers worked in and out of her with rhythmic determination.

"Don't… Jesus… don't…" Another cry erupted from her, and she felt herself getting dangerously close to coming. The tension in her belly had grown to preposterous proportions.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Please, Severus … don't let me come … without you."

"I'm right here, love," he said. "Just let it go."

She found it hard to ignore him, because just as she was about to protest, he pushed a third finger inside her. Hermione closed her eyes and arched off the bed, finally surrendering to the flood of pleasure.

Snape felt her contract around his fingers, and began to frantically lap at her clit, helping her come as hard as possible. When she screamed for the last time, it was with an air of longing and desperation, and he knew that she still wanted him. Hermione only ever wanted him inside her, but this first part had been for him. He loved to watch her writhe and beg, hear her scream and whimper. Knowing that someone like him could make someone like her feel so gloriously, wonderfully good was a point of pride.

He caught the warm flow of juices seeping from her cunt on his tongue, and drank it all as best he could, coating the inside of his mouth with the taste of Hermione. Only when she fell limp against the bed, panting and shaking, did he stop. And then he raised himself off the ground and finished undoing his trousers. He kept his eyes trained on her face throughout, but she didn't look back at him until she heard the ominous slide of his belt coming off.

Her eyes were wide, tear streaks gleaming down her temples. "No, Severus."

The pants hit the floor along with his underwear, and she was treated to the sight of his gloriously erect cock. Any other time she would have begged for it, but now… she was spent.

"Please, no… I can't…"

"You can," he assured her softly, bending down to take a nipple in his mouth. She rewarded him with a broken cry that only served to make him harder. "Just relax, love."

He rubbed the head of his cock against her clit for a moment, causing her to tremble madly, before pushing himself into her entirely. Hermione clenched her eyes shut and bit down on her lip, but the sound of his deep moan brought her attention back to his face.

Snape's dark hair had fallen forward over his shoulders, slightly obscuring her view of him, but she could see how his jaw tightened, and his arms shook as he held himself over her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the sight, and a feeling of love so strong that it hurt washed over her. This was his time for pleasure, and she had to do what she could to help.

Tentatively, though it was incredibly hard to do, she tightened herself around him. He threw back his head and moaned loudly, looking down at her with an expression of almost fearful need. She gave him a small smile.

"Come on. Move, baby."

"Jesus," he croaked.

But he began to move anyway, and before long the two of them were locked in a frantic rhythm of need. Hermione whimpered quietly as he filled her, touching all the right spots as he thrust in and out. Each time she tightened on him, he would let out a cry of ecstasy, and pump himself harder and faster into her. Like a man possessed, he forced himself deeper and deeper into her until he couldn't take it anymore.

Finally, with a throaty groan, his body tensed and he found release inside her. Hermione came again, clenching around him and crying out his name. Snape fell on top of her, with no regard as to whether or not he was crushing her, but she didn't complain. Neither of them moved until he became too soft to stay inside her, and their breathing had calmed to soft panting.

Snape rolled onto his side, looking down at his beautiful woman with a soft expression she rarely sure except when they made love. Even though her limbs were still shaking and she thought she'd never be able to move again, Hermione tried her best to snuggle against him, wishing for the warm contact of his skin.

"I love you, Hermione."

She closed her eyes, smiling. "I _adore_ you, Severus Snape. And I miss you more than I can say."

They lay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and thinking of nothing but their own happiness.

But by the time Hermione opened her eyes, she saw only the top of her four-poster bed, and felt nothing but the sock she'd stuffed into her mouth to quiet her screams. She took her hand away from her cunt, where the last of her juices were still slowly seeping out. Her fingers were coated with her own cum, her breasts sore and red from where she had viciously tugged and pinched them, desperate to feel something akin to pleasure as she remembered her potions master as he might have been, if only he had lived.

Hermione had returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year, but Severus Snape had not.

And nothing in the world could fill the hole he left behind.

* * *

><p><em>This ain't no ordinary feeling<em>

_You are the only thing that I believe in_

_I know you're coming back to me, and_

_I will be waiting here for you till the end_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This song is a great one for me. It's emotional and beautiful, yet also funky. If possible, try to read this chapter listening to a piano cover of the song. There's only one on YouTube at the moment, but the song is still relatively new, and so more are bound to pop up. Also, the one that's on YouTube right now, called "Breathing Jason Derulo Piano and Vocal Cover", by DBUDDEN94 is a beautiful piano piece, but I don't particularly agree with the vocals and general echo-ey-ness. When someone finds a suitable piano cover, please tell me so I can update this author's note and tell everyone to find it! The chapter itself is self-explanatory. Hermione is still reeling from Snape's death, in an AU where she was in love with him, but they never got a chance to explore what could have been. As the song says, she only misses him when she's breathing. Poor Hermione.**


	3. Chapter 3

HEAVY IN YOUR ARMS – FLORENCE + THE MACHINE

* * *

><p><em>I was a heavy heart to carry<em>

_My beloved was weighed down_

_My arms around his neck_

_My fingers laced a crown_

_I was heavy heart to carry_

_But he never let me down_

_When he held me in his arms_

_My feet never touched the ground_

* * *

><p>She found him in the owlery after the Leaving Feast, staring out the window into the setting sun. He had been there for some time, hoping to get as far away from the festivities as possible. The staff insisted on talking to him, and the students were becoming reckless in their behaviour, no longer afraid of punishment since the term had ended. All in all, it would have been a terrible mistake to stay in the Great Hall. But he should have known she'd find him. Even if he hid in a more unexpected place, Hermione had always had a knack for seeking him out.<p>

When she entered the room, there was a flurry of wings and feathers as the birds around him spotted the newcomer. A tawny brown feather fell in front of his eyes. He watched its progress to the floor without expression.

"I should have known you would hide," she said. Her tone was too even to betray whatever it was she was thinking. If she were mad, or upset, he would have to look at her to find out. But he couldn't look at her. All things considered, it would be nothing short of self-inflicted torture to let his eyes wander to her face. Not now that she was leaving, and he couldn't possibly ask her to stay.

"I'm not hiding," he replied. "I'm in the middle of an escape."

"From who? Me?"

"From everyone. I can't tell you what horror it is to sit at that table, pretending I give a damn what day of the year it is."

"Do you really not care at all?"

He heard her move from the doorway, saw her stand beside him from the corner of his eye. Snape squared his jaw, determinedly looking out at the grounds, which were now bathed in a hazy orange glow from the sun. Hermione was staring at him, but he refused to even glance in her direction.

His heart squeezed painfully when he realised she might have taken offence at his indifference. But he had to maintain the illusion, even if it hurt.

"Not one bit."

_Liar_, he thought viciously to himself. The past few months had been spent dreading this day. He cared very much that it was the day she was to leave him. The day she _had_ to leave him.

Beside him, Hermione sighed, dragging a hand through her unruly curls. "Severus…"

"Professor Snape," he snapped.

"I'm not your student anymore," she pointed out, a little defensive. "And I'm an adult. Why shouldn't I call you Severus?"

"Because I will always be Professor Snape in this castle. Don't insult me by refusing to give me the respect I am due."

"I've done nothing but respect you, _Professor_," she said, her quiet voice turning into a snarl. It always amazed him how she could go from lamb to lion in the space of an instant. Sometimes she was both at once. "I've respected your privacy, your feelings, your personal space and need for time, your ridiculous bloody rules-"

"And yet here you are, Miss Granger," he drawled, "Contradicting yourself."

It worried him how easy it was to fight with her. He knew her well enough to recognise which were sensitive points for her, and what angered her the most. She hated it when he didn't listen to her. She hated it when he interrupted. But most of all, she hated it when he refused to acknowledge how his heart beat wildly when she was around, or how he would find himself staring at her for hours at a time during class. This toing-and-froing that had existed between them since the school reopened was driving them both a little crazy. He had felt their bond growing for years, and he had done his best to ignore it for years. She was an underage witch, and he, her professor. But now there was nothing to stop them from exploring whatever this was, and it terrified him.

He couldn't let her in. He couldn't burden her with his love.

"I'm fighting for what I want," she retorted. "What are you doing? Hiding from a teenage girl in a room that stinks of owl shit. The brave, selfless hero of the Great War can't even face his own feelings. And you say _I'm_ contradicting myself."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said coldly. God, but she was right. Where was his courage? Decades of lying directly to the distorted face of the Dark Lord, and he couldn't even look her in the eye.

"Don't I? I lived through the same war you did, Severus, and I played my own part in it. What could you possibly have to lose from opening up to me? I know about your past, and your feelings for Lily, and what you did with Voldemort. I'm willing to put it all aside and start anew with you."

"That makes you a fool," he snarled. "The past is never forgotten, Hermione; it lingers. In every crack and every split of your mind, it lingers. No life with me would ever be a new one, and I am not stupid enough to assume I can give you what you need." Snape stopped abruptly, realising he had gone too far.

"That's what's stopping you?" She asked incredulously. Far more effectively than he'd have liked, she moved to stand in front of him, and this time he couldn't look anywhere else. Her eyes bore into his, hard and warm at the same time, a lion and a lamb. Despite his best efforts to remain indifferent, he felt himself soften to his very bones at the sight of her. God, she was beautiful. And kinder than anyone he had met, with a tenacity that surprised him to no end. How he hadn't seen her for who she was for so long, he didn't know. Most of the time he counted it down to sheer prejudice, which he was still trying his best to let go. But he had told her the truth – the past lingers. It's never fully gone, and his memories weren't going anywhere either.

How could he get her to see, the man she thought she wanted wasn't at all the man she needed. Hermione deserved better than a broken old wizard like him. He came with baggage far heavier than she could carry, and he hated the thought that she was wasting all her love on him. The greatest gift he could give her would be to never tell her how he felt. His love had concrete feet – it would only drag her down.

"You think you're protecting me," she said softly, searching his eyes for something. "From what? Your memories? What you've done? I know what you've done, and what you've been through. How can I get you to understand that I want it all, the bad and the good? I love you, Severus. Nothing can change that, and nothing ever will."

With her words, his resolve finally buckled. He hung his head with a short, sad sigh. His heart felt like it might burst with happiness and sorrow all at once. She loved him. She had said it, and now he knew. And yes, he did love her. Fuck, he _adored_ her. But he couldn't say it. He would never convince her to leave if he said it.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "But, I can't…"

"I know it feels that way," she said just as softly, leaning in closer so that their foreheads nearly touched. His whole body ached to take her in his arms and kiss her, the way he had before the war in this very tower. "And I'll bet you think you're being incredibly selfless. But I've got news for you, sir – you're not. In fact, I think this may be the most selfish thing you've ever done."

His head snapped up to look at her, pain and desperation etched all over his face. _Why couldn't she understand?_

"Hermione…" he moaned, wanting to bury his head in his hands. Instead he opted for turning away from her. But she grabbed his arm before he could so much as move an inch.

"Depriving me of the chance to really know you? Seflish." She said, but her voice was gentle. "Asking me to leave here without you, so you can feel better about 'saving me from yourself'? Selfish. Forcing me to live out my days without love? Selfish. Don't do this to yourself, Severus. And don't do this to me."

He couldn't look at her again. If he did, he knew he'd cry, and he hadn't done that since boyhood. But the pain in his chest had grown to dragon proportions, and he felt like he might explode with the intensity of it. She didn't know what she was asking… she didn't know…

When he didn't respond, she lowered he hand slowly from his arm, and looked away sadly. Never had he wanted more than to simply hold her and comfort her. But that was selfish, too, wasn't it?

"If you change your mind, and I hope you will," she whispered, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears, "You'll know where to find me. Just don't take too long, my Severus. I would wait an eternity for you, but that's too long to be without you."

She left soon after, hovering in the doorway for a moment, possibly giving him the chance to reconsider his non-offer. But before long, she was gone, and it was only him and the owls in the tower once more.

Night had fallen across the grounds by the time Snape woke from his reverie. In his mind, he had gone over every possible scenario a million times, each one more unlikely than the next. But whether or not she could handle the darkness inside him, and whether or not he could live knowing she was carrying his burden, it all only came down to one thing: could he live without her?

His answer came in an instant, loud and clear with an echo that only strengthened his decision. He turned on his heel to leave, taking a final breath before he went through the door. Hermione was right, the room did stink of owl shit. With a note of finality, he stepped down onto the staircase and made his way back into the castle.

Like the know-it-all she was, Hermione had known what was in his heart and head before even he did. And of course, she was entirely right. He was indeed a very selfish man.

And he couldn't live without her.

* * *

><p><em>And is it worth the wait<em>

_All this killing time_

_Are you strong enough to stand_

_Protecting both your heart and mine?_

_I'm so heavy … heavy in your arms_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As you will soon discover, Florence + The Machine is one of my favourite bands, if not my absolute favourite. Their music, and Florence's voice, are just magical. To me, listening to their songs is quite literally like being underwater. You can't help but be immersed in the feeling, and in the lyrics.**

**I'm aware this song is mostly about unrequited love, and feeling guilty for not loving your partner as much as they love you, but I'm focusing only on the 'I'm a burden to my love' kind of feel that kind of shows itself in the verses. I think it's appropriate for this particular chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

CLOSER – NE-YO

-[Hermione]-

_And I just can't bring myself no way_

_But I don't want to escape_

_I just can't stop, I just can't stop_

* * *

><p>It's nearing midnight when I finally pull the covers off my body, and swing my feet to the cold floor of the hospital wing. Hannah Abbot has been sobbing quietly beside me in her bed for the last two hours, and though I sympathise with her, I don't feel that I should have to put up with her misery as well as my own. We all lost someone, after all, and I lost several someones.<p>

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the bite of cool air awaken my skin. Everyone in the hospital wing gets infirmary robes, thankfully closed over the back unlike the gowns of Muggle hospitals. I had to wear one of those, once, when I had my appendix out as a child. But that was before I got my letter to Hogwarts, and long before any of this happened. I walk up and down the rows of beds around me, trying not to look too hard at the injuries before me. Rather, I look at the faces of the men and women who bear them, and console myself with the knowledge: they might be hurt, but these people, at least, are alive. I couldn't say the same for hundreds of witches and wizards, all of whom fought for their freedom. Some of them fought in this very castle, only days ago.

At the very end of the long room, one bed stands apart from the many others, curtained off in a corner. I know who it is in that bed, and I know what he's in for. Not for the first time, I thanked God and Merlin and whoever else was listening that in fifth year I read a particularly curious book: _Pugglethwort's Guide to Apprentice and Novice Healing_. I hadn't learned much more than how to avert the immediate effects of poison, how to conjure the correct bandage and how to dress like a healer. But no matter how useless I thought the book was at the time, it had been enough to save Snape, and keep him hanging on to life for a few more hours. Precious hours that were spent trying desperately to find Madam Pomfrey, McGonnagal, anyone who I thought could help. It was enough. Thank you God, thank you, Merlin... it was enough.

My feet move of their own accord and I suddenly find myself standing beside his bed, looking down at his peacefully sleeping face. The neck of his nightgown – which I see has been charmed to a dark shade of green – sits low enough so that I can see the ugly scar already forming on his neck. Nagini's deadly venom wasn't her only weapon, it seemed. Her fangs had managed to tear at half of his throat, leaving a thick, ropey wound where most people would expect a simple puncture wound. I can't help but stare at it, wondering if it hurts. Wondering if he knew I saved him.

The longer I watch him, the calmer I feel. Amidst the death and horror of the last few months, here is proof that my existence in this war mattered. Here is a life Voldemort failed to take, and it is because of me. Harry is the hero of the war – of that there is no doubt – but Snape was my victory, even if all I did was give him a few more hours, and a greater chance of survival. I worry for him, and it distracts me from the bone-crushing sorrow that threatens to overtake me at any moment. Fred's death and the death of Lupin and Tonks don't weigh as heavily on me in this moment, while I continue to watch my former potions master sleep.

I don't feel at all in control of myself as I inch closer to him, eventually lowering myself to sit beside him on the bed. My eyes roam his face fearfully, hoping to God that he won't wake up and see me here. But then I spot an empty vial on the bedside table, and I pick it up to smell it tentatively. Sleeping potion; he'll be out for hours. My secret is safe.

As slowly and carefully as I can, I lay down beside him, close to the edge of the bed as I can get. My arm rests on his, but the cover between us stops our skin from touching. I find myself wishing it wasn't there, so I could compare his colour to mine. I almost snort at that, and lay my hands on my stomach, clasping them above my belly button. Then I feel my breathing begin to slow into a nice, easy rhythm and sleep takes over.

When I wake, my foggy mind tries to figure out where I am, because it's certainly not my bed. I stare at the curtains around me and my memory comes back in a rush. But now I'm on my side, back to him, and I don't want to roll over to look at him. I'm not sure how long I've been here with him, and if the Sleeping Potion is starting to wear off, my slightest movement could wake him.

Something warm is on my waist, moving up toward my ribs slowly. I tense but make no movement, painfully aware that Snape is behind me. I glance down at my body and see that the warm thing on my side is a hand, pale and ghostly in the dim light of the hospital wing.

Immediately I begin to tremble, completely at a loss as to what I should do. Is he still asleep? Does he know what he's doing? God, this is ridiculous. I have to get off this bed before he wakes up. I can't even begin to imagine how awkward the conversation would be.

But before I can move so much as a muscle, Snape's hand slides back down past my waist and to my hip, where he comes dangerously close to petting my ass. His hand pauses there for a second, and then moves back up my body, my nightgown bunching under his fingers as he goes. This toing-and-froing up and down my side continues for a few more minutes, during which time I realise that I can't move. It's not the same feeling as a Body-Bind curse, or even the _petrificus totalus_ spell. This is something entirely different, and it seems to stem from a desire to let him keep going, to see how far he'll go.

_God_, I think fearfully, _what's wrong with me?_

And still, despite the clear and obvious reasons to stop that are sounding in my mind like a warning bell, I can't bring myself to move away from him. If anything, I never want him to stop. It's so soothing, this feeling of being petted. Against the lurking depression in my heart, which will rear its head inevitably – honestly, I know I can't make it out of this war without some kind of psychological repercussion – there's a warmth blossoming through my body that I can't seem to control. It takes a moment to register that I'm _happy_.

But then his fingers find my skin, and I realise that my nightgown had bunched up around my waist. Snape's hand is now delicately exploring the flesh above my panties, even going so far as to dip his hand over my stomach. I shudder violently. I want him to stop. I don't want him to stop. This is so incredibly wrong. And it feels so incredibly good. I have to escape his hands. I don't _want_ to escape.

A tiny whimper escapes my lips when his fingers draw nearer and nearer to my rib cage, coming to stop just beneath my breasts. He has to be awake. He has to know what he's doing. And that means he knows that I haven't stopped him. God, why haven't I stopped him? And why won't I stop enjoying it? It's wrong. It's wrong, and not something I want.

Then a thought hits me like a sledgehammer, momentarily driving all other thought from my overworked mind:

_I _can't_ stop. _

_I actually can't stop._

With a sound like a dying animal, I turn my head and moan into the pillow. Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. My head is torn between wanting this and desperately not this. But regardless of what I want, my body isn't listening to my mind anymore. When I open my mouth to protest, I find that the words don't come out as they should have.

"Come closer."

* * *

><p>-[Snape]—<p>

_And I just can't pull myself away_

_Under her spell, I can't break_

_I just can't stop, I just can't stop_

* * *

><p>I hear her hoarse whisper as though she shouted it in my ear.<p>

Surely she didn't mean it. I wish with all my might that she didn't mean it. I pray that she did.

My hand moves of its own volition, slowly caressing the soft skin of her stomach. My gut clenches painfully, guilty as hell and just as aroused when she whimpers again. It shocks me that only minutes before the two of us had been sleeping peacefully, though I have no idea when or how she got into my bed. And then I had raised my hand to her waist, where it ran up and down her curves with a reverence that terrified me. Touching a student, this student, no matter her age or what she had done for me, was something I thought I'd never do. It wasn't even something I'd ever contemplated, so waking to find myself overcome with the desire – not to force her from my quiet corner of this damned infirmary – but to touch her skin, was nothing short of an impossibility. And yet here I am, stroking and touching her wherever I can. I can't understand it. I don't know what I'm doing, or why. All I know is that I can't stop, no matter how much I tell myself to do so. And oh, how my mind is _screaming_ at me to stop. The inherent wrongness of it should be enough to make me sick. But I am not. Instead, I am desperate to make her sigh, make her moan and groan with need.

Dear God, I can't stop.

_Why can't I stop?_

And then it comes again, the soft whisper that nearly undoes me here and now.

"Come closer."

My body is out of control with arousal. What is this, the Imperius curse? Is she doing this to me? Why in Merlin's name would she want this? I know how she feels about me – I have seen it in her head, many times. It has always been the same fear and intimidation, accompanied by intense respect and what I understand to be trust. Although it's not really trust, but more of a belief that I can be trusted. But never, in all my years of teaching her, have I seen anything akin to the lust or desire to be touched that she is showing me now. It's something my body seems to be responding to.

I inch forward under my covers to press my chest against her back, biting back a groan of frustration as I find that, once again, I have no control over myself. Absolutely no control. My erection is resting against the curve of her backside. Surely she must feel it. It's causing me such pain that I know she has to feel it. I silently curse myself. What is happening to me?

Suddenly the girl gasps and presses herself against my hand, which I notice is cupping her breast gently under her gown. With growing horror I feel myself caress the underside of her breast, the skin unbelievably soft and warm to the touch. It's been a long time since I touched a woman like this. I forgot how perfect female anatomy can be.

The tips of my fingers graze her nipple, which has hardened to a nub. Is it me or the cold air that has made them tighten? As if to test my theory, I pinch her nipple experimentally, and am rewarded with a throaty moan.

Fuck. The things that sound do to me.

I am getting harder and harder beneath my gown, and I can't help but groan against the nape of her neck. She feels so good. So unbelievably goddamned good. And the way she's whimpering so quietly, like she's trying to hide her pleasure…

And then it's not enough for me to just feel her breasts, perfect though they feel. Part of me wants to flip her on to her back so I can push the nightgown up to her neck and suckle her hard peaks, but again, I am not in control. Whichever side of me is doing this, and from whatever deep, dark crevice it has come from, it prefers to touch but not look, to feel but not taste. I am disgusted with myself. But still, it's not enough. And still, I can't stop.

My fingers linger down her stomach to the top of her panties, toying with the elastic long enough to make her moan again. She pushes her hips against my hand, demanding that I continue. I stare at the back of her head, dumbfounded at her enthusiasm. Surely, she can't want this.

Just the sound of her soft panting has me in raptures. This loss of control has gone so far beyond the Imperius curse. I learned to overthrow that particular spell a long time ago, even before my service to the Dark Lord. There is no magic could entrap me so completely as her reactions do. This is one spell I cannot break.

I dip my into her panties to discover that they are soaking wet. I groan into her hair, barely able to think. What is happening to the two of us?

She parts her legs so that I can run a finger along her wet folds. The air is filled with the scent of her arousal, and she shudders against my hand.

It's too much. It is too fucking much.

One of my fingers slips inside her and she arches her back against me, drawing a long, shaky breath. Her head is now sitting slightly beneath mine so that my mouth hovers over her ear. She must be able to hear my laboured breathing, the unstoppable moans that continually erupt from my chest as she writhes against me. I should say something. I should tell her how sorry I am. I should beg for her forgiveness. I should…

"I … can't stop."

The words spring from my lips before I have a chance to stop them. Fuck, that wasn't what I was meant to say. Now she must think me a pervert, determined to get what I want from her body.

I squeeze my eyes shut just as another of my fingers decides to push inside her. Hermione lets out a broken cry, loud enough that I'm sure many of the other patients in the hospital will be awake. I hope to God that they only think these are cries of pain from an injured witch. An alarming thought occurs to me. _Is_ she in pain? Am I _hurting_ her?

"Don't," she says, and the sound comes out as an almost sob.

I must be hurting her. She's begging me to stop. But I _can't_. I can't stop myself any more than I can stop breathing. Touching her has somehow become imperative to my survival. There's no way I can let her go. No matter how much I wish I could.

Nevertheless, it seems some of my inner anguish has finally cracked the spell over me, since my fingers have stilled inside her. I take a moment to let the knowledge wash over me: I am fingering Hermione Granger. The bookworm. The insufferable know-it-all. The incredibly annoying Gryffindor who set my robes on fire in her first year. She is so warm and wet against my fingers, though, that I forget all that in an instant.

"Don't stop," she whispers.

My body begins to tremble. I press my forehead against her shoulder, breathing hard, eyes closed. What is she doing to me?

"Please."

Dear God, she can't be... Is she begging for more?

My fingers start sliding in and out of her, a gentle pace that is enough to make the both of us breathe harder. I wish I could kiss her mouth. I wish I could taste her.

God damn it. I wish I could stop.

For the first time in my life, I feel like crying. This frustration, this humiliation, it's unbearable. I cannot believe I'm doing this. To _her_.

Hermione moans again, and grinds herself against my head, trying to get more friction from my fingers. A wave of heat and wetness drips from my fingers.

Sweet Merlin. Has anything ever felt so damned good?

* * *

><p>-[Hermione]-<p>

_(It's) the sweetest taste of sin_

_The more I get, the more I want_

* * *

><p>Another wave of heat rolls through my body when Snape begins to move his fingers inside me. I feel the tell-tale signs of impending orgasm stirring in my belly, but I don't want to come. My potions master is fingering me, and I can hardly control my breathing let alone the way my body responds. From which strange hell did this torture come from? I don't want it, but I've never wanted anything more than for him to keep touching me. His fingers, his hands, which I have watched for years as they delicately brew potions and cast powerful spells, are gentler than I could have thought possible.<p>

_More_.

He twists his hand so that his thumb can tease my clit, drifting back and forth over the sensitive spot, drawing a moan from me each time. When I open my eyes, the room spins in a faint red haze.

God, no. I don't want this. I don't want him to make me come.

_Need more_.

His erection is pressing against my ass, teasing me further. Through the torrent of sensations rushing through me, I wonder if he will fuck me properly once he's done fingering me.

I hope so. Dear Merlin how I hope he will.

_So good. Oh, Professor, so good…_

A choked sob escapes me just before he plunges a third finger into my. I nearly scream with pleasure. He rams his fingers into me with renewed vigour, going faster and faster with each second. My eyes roll back into my head. My body stiffens.

No, damn it. I don't want him to make me come.

His thumb flits across the bundle of nerves in this apex of my thighs. My eyes squeeze shut and I bite my lip to hold back another cry. I can stop the orgasm. I can. Willpower. That's all it takes. I can do it.

My stomach clenches.

_No, I can do it_.

His fingers keep moving, incessant in their goal.

_I won't do it. I won't come_.

I turn my head into the pillow and bite down – hard.

His breath tickles my ear. The sound of his heavy panting draws a new wave of wetness to my crotch.

"Hermione," he moans.

Oh God, it's too much.

_I can't stop. _

My orgasm hits me like the Hogwarts Express. There's a roaring in my ears, fire in my veins. I arch my back against him again, completely out of control. With my teeth still firmly planted in the pillow, I let out the scream I've been holding back all along.

And then it's done.

I collapse limply back onto the bed, my chest heaving. My eyes are closed; I refuse to open them on the off chance that he is looking at me, for I am no longer laying on my side. Instead, I seem to be half on my back and half on my side. My nightgown remains scrunched up just below my breasts, and I'm grateful for the cover. The fabric of my panties is completely soaked through. My mind is screaming at me to move, to get off the bed, to get as far away from this experience as I can. And for the first time, my legs seem to be obeying.

One foot drops to the floor. The other soon follows. I sit up shakily, drawing strength from some hidden reserve in my being. Without knowing why, I shake my head and stare at the floor, as though disbelieving. I don't want to turn around to see what he's doing. I'm afraid to meet his gaze. More than anything, I'm petrified of seeing if he's still aroused. Just knowing that he got a kick from feeling my body makes me sick to my bones, even as it sends a thrill of joy down my spine.

I try stand on trembling legs, and almost collapse to the ground. What the hell is wrong with me? I've had orgasms before. They never stopped me from getting up and leaving afterwards. Why was this so different?

I force myself to stand again and this time I'm able to stay upright, even if I feel less than sturdy. The room is spinning around me, and stars seem to be dancing behind my eyelids every time I blink. I'm still breathing erratically, and my heartbeat is pulsing in my ears like a war drum.

My feet find the will to move forward to the curtain, which I clutch in my hands life a lifeline. It's only now that I remember all the others in this hospital wing. Bloody hell. What must they be thinking? Shame colours my face as I remember the way I screamed and moaned against my professor's hand. God, I'm a whore.

Something stops me before I leave him, and as if spurred on by some sick desire to torture myself, I turn back to look at him. Thankfully, he's not watching me but is staring at his fingers, still slick with my juices. I almost gasp in horror, but manage to keep myself in check. Then I watch as he lifts those fingers to his mouth and proceeds to suck on them, his expression pained.

It's too much. I've got to get out of here.

And with that I yank the curtains apart and stagger back to my bed, not even bothering to see if anyone's watching my walk of shame. I collapse on to my bed with a horrifying thought.

I wouldn't have stopped it even if I had the choice.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I used to be a little obsessed with this song. So sexy, and so funky at the same time. And this song can be applied to both Hermione and Snape in this situation, which is why I switched perspectives. Plus, I just love showing their effect on each other.**

**I love the way that this song implies the feeling of being unable to tear yourself away from someone; of being so wrapped up in their closeness that you literally can't control yourself. It's a beautiful thing, no?**

**(Also, I may have altered the lyrics a little so Hermione's verse is applicable to what she's feeling)**


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